Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1887-07-07
DOC.
A Simple Tale of Backwoods Life.

A Simple Tale of BackwOods Life.
When Doc first came to live with us
it was in the early spring. He was
pitiful-looking boy. He was little,
puffy-looking chap, with pale face,
small, bony arms, and short, weakly
looking legs, and rather sickly-look-
ing, frizzled up, straw-colored hair on
his head. There was no personal
beauty about Docs face and figure,
and yet he was not unusually hard fav-
Ored. He was commonplace. Only
that and nothing more. Only a pea
in pod where dozen peas of similar
appearance reposed. Only little
wire-grass boy, with not one redeem
ing feature about him except his eyes.
They were only remarkable for the pa
thetic expression that fingered there.
What little light that ever flashed from
them was of that sorrowful cast that
one observes lingering on the western
horizon after days rain has closed
in humid sunset.
Doc lost his mother. That was the
tie that bound us to him. She was a
commonplace wire-grass woman, but
in her uncultured soul dwelt the same
traits of maternal love and cherishing
tenderness that are supposed to illum-
ine the high-born souls of those grand
danes whose white hands have never
battled against hard and evil fate
for the simple necessities of prolong-
ing existence. She had nourished and
cherished her little boy, as only a fond
mother can nourish and cherish d weak
and fragile child. Ever on the watch,
she had stood between him and all the
wild streams of adversely that ragged
about their humble log cabin in the
desolate barrens.
When she died Doc took it to heart
to q greater extent than any of us
though possible. He had been such
puny, peevish, pettish sort of boy
that we thought that only his selfish
ness could suffer. We were mistaken.
Doc was older than his age.
Well remember how mother used
to toast the crispest bits of brown
cornbread, softened with the fresh,
sweet butter, and how she used to put
in big lump of that brown mush
sugar in his coffee, so as to induce the
little fellow to eat
stYou know his ma is dead" she
used to say, ''and we must try to keep
him from missing her in every way we
can"
And we were learning. We were
being taught the grandest lesson in
human lore-the creed of unseltish-
ness.
We could not get him to join us very
often in any play. He was too weak.
But when the afternoon sun shone
through the riffs in the great pine for
est he would creep out on the sunny
side with us and we would adjust our
sports to his strength. Sometimes he
would look up from his play, and, with
his eyes full of tears, he would ex-
claim: "'My ma is dead! / can't never
see her no more!" Then he would sob
and moan as if his little heart would
break, and am not ashamed to say
we would cry too. ''Might not the
good Lord take our dear mother, too?"
we asked ourselves.
All! my sainted mother! Thy love-
lighted brown eyes have been closed
+o q, ,tbIv soonoS fo, n,,n,, s,mr,ars
Thon III ca ' ni5soJ oJ1Va ronr U % n"o,. tnilworn
hands above your cold, still heart a
haEs & ioI sSsS Sins s,as, 80 e tba;r Jrodnino % @ %
boughs the prlrest distilled dews of
neaien et ~, "oSae @ o ~ o s"ne, aftnu a
aSS S Al 10y uasa aT SCI suo 'aao aod,,,,;sh auG oi'o
ud anu aad an ,no ,';st nGter sooo'sn had nna
SOU deeu u an IiiSy sI e,,at ~ " a uau .hat Ime
Sosho as mnaI ou,S 70 .n ;,tailaa4 "' una, on",
,,.om masn01 sono oto y on6 @ tn;aods % oren m two twn
.3 & naso nio, iV,EuU M inue' i,,t e' S+ W. ~o
weouiose pod wses, - otS tSat no'1 Sol ouo WY
noIner. u ~ Diesseu as, pe ,as s.,as ,la n ud au5
ap9ye a.l ealthly Treasures S lnoS' Saoiou VI
u io az es. .neiieileu is l's !
s; w epl Wy S.om saa m@I.s4 La "n, ~,
sno Ll,id WON y, sio,e's peepe1 ior.n iet ~
Danhs waiele .ne sun aSleu & ioiReS., o.,
Vul PLo.ese leW moae s1Ios. ,.,asI !, hgie ~